Northanger's Chicken Fried Abbey
by ForWhomTheBelleTolls
Summary: Trina didn't want to see the face of the man that killed that poor woman while she was walking down the street. She didn't want to identify him in a lineup. She didn't want to get sent off in the LAPD's version of witness protection to the middle of nowhere. What seems to make it better is the man in charge of her, whose name sounds a lot like Earwax. Slight AU, total crack ship.


**A/N: This is a little weird. That's the point. This is for a contest over at the Topaz Awards Forum (aka the number one Victorious forum - check it out!). This month's challenge is crack ships (or slash ships, but I chose to do a crack ship). So here, ladies and gentlemen, I present...Trikowitz.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Victorious.**

When it happened, I was scared. I don't have any idea why it happened, but it did, and it terrified me. There was a man in a long black coat. He took a gun out and shot a woman in a yellow-flowered dress. When he bent to pick up her dead body, he saw me, and I got a perfect look at his face.

I picked him out of a lineup two days later, and he screamed at the top of his lungs, "I WILL KILL YOU FOR THIS!"

Two days later he escaped.

Not a day after that, I was told to pack a suitcase full of essentials, and get on a train at midnight. I was eighteen; my parents weren't allowed to come with me. I just threw everything I could possibly fit into my suitcase, not knowing what I'd need. If all else fails, at least I'll have my black, sparkly vest to wear.

I didn't want to think about what had happened. I wanted all of this to go away.

When we started slowing down I finally decided to take off my sleeping mask and look out the window.

I was in the middle of nowhere in a desert. There were _cacti_.

I walked onto the platform of the train station, and was greeted by a nearly bald man with clothes that looked like he'd robbed the plus size section of a sixties men's wear thrift store.

"You must be Katrina Smith," The man called to me, pulling me into a hug. I stood, limp. I didn't want this hobo of a man touching my clothes. And I didn't want this dust all over my shoes – they were designer!

I pulled my license out of my purse, and checked it.

"Yeah, I'm Katrina," I told him, unsure of how I was supposed to act.

"Oh, come on, Kat," he encouraged, "didn't you miss me? Your brother's best friend Erwin? I know you used to have a crush on me in grade school." Oh, alright, that's what's going on. He was Erwin, the man who I was supposed to stay with until I left to go back to LA and testify. He threw his arm around my shoulder and guided me toward his Jeep.

"Between you and me," I leaned into him a little, "I have a friend named Kat, I'd rather you call me Trina." Erwin opened the door for me. We got in and he started the car.

"You're old name was Trina," Erwin informed me, sure that no one could hear us, "Here in Darwin, you're under a new identity, and no one can know who you are, especially not your old name."

"That makes no sense," I started, "No one knows who I am, and Trina isn't that uncommon of a name!"

"Yes, but Kat is far more common," he argued, "and it makes for really good childhood nicknames. I shall call you Kitty, and we will be super close from hanging out as children."

"I don't like Kat," I shot back, "If you dare call me that, I'll call you something weird. Like Earwax. Erwin sounds like Earwax."

"Good!" Erwin mused, "We both have nicknames for each other! That's wonderful!"

"Ugh!" I groaned, "That's so not what I meant! You know, no one will believe that I have a brother old enough to be friends with you."

"I'm only 37," he rationalized, "Your parents could've had a kid at 16 and then waited a long time to have another. What's that, 19 years? It's plausible." I crossed my arms over my chest and stared out the window until we reached his house.

It was a small house – one floor, rickety roof, and yellow, peeling paint. The doors were wimpy looking. There was no way this house could keep me safe.

Erwin took my suitcase out of the back of his Jeep, and dragged it across the dusty path leading up to his house. He opened the door and threw the suitcase inside, motioning for me to go in.

The house was set up like a beach house, with white wicker furniture and a living room that connected directly with the kitchen. There were only a few doors that a person could enter.

I was trapped. Oh, this was not good. It's not like I'd have much of a place to run if that man came for me here. It's the middle of nowhere, with rickety everything. If he found me, I would die without so much as a "help" being able to escape my lips.

Then, Erwin brought out a large padlock and looped it through two notches by the door. He also put a bar over the door. He turned to me.

"This isn't my first rodeo, kid," He informed me, "I do know how to keep you safe." He tossed me a key on a chain. "That's the key to the padlock," he continued, "wear it around your neck. I don't want it getting lost."

And that was that. For the next month or so, I wore the key, hidden under sparkly clothes so no one could see its ugliness, as I went about my daily life. My daily life became a simple routine. I would wake up at 6:30 every morning (not my idea, and one that I did not particularly enjoy), I would get dressed, and I would head to the kitchen, where Erwin would make us breakfast. I was in the guest bedroom. Then, Erwin would drive us into town and park in the lot by the school where he taught. I would go to the library a block away and study. (I wasn't going to fall behind in my first semester at college – what would people think of me? I'd be a laughing stock.) I'd eat my lunch outside at the picnic tables, and then go back into the library for some light reading until school got out, when I would walk over to meet Erwin in his theatre classroom.

After school we'd have long chats as Erwin cleaned up his desk and wrote his lesson plans for the next day. It was so easy to talk to him. I told him everything – the longstanding feelings of incompetency in comparison to my sister, my love of performing, my addiction to Jane Austen novels, and even my desire to be taller. He listened to every word. He took me to a karaoke bar in town, and made me sing "Chicken Fried" by the Zac Brown Band to a rowdy and drunk crowd of fans. People actually liked my voice. I guess country music is my niche as far as singing goes. Erwin helped me discover that. He told me I was beautiful, and let me help organize costumes for his students' play, even going so far as to make sure that I had a costume of my own. When he went to give thank yous on closing night, he gave me a large bouquet of roses, while everyone else got colorful daisies.

Soon, the time came for my departure.

"I'm going to miss having you make omelets every morning, Kitty" Erwin mused, giving me a hug.

"I'm going to miss you too, Earwax," I replied, hugging him back. Then he did something I never expected. He bent down and kissed me. It was a brief peck on the lips, before he handed me my suitcase and I had to board the train. It was nothing I'd expected, but it was exactly right, as if I had been waiting for it all along.

I smiled at him as I got on, waving to him once I took my seat. He waved back. Once the train started moving, I stared straight ahead, not daring to look back. I was afraid I might start crying. No one understood me the way that Erwin did. I'd most likely never see the man again.

The trial went forward, and my testimony helped land Mr. I'm-gonna-shoot-my-wife-in-cold-blood with a death sentence.

I couldn't care less.

I took up singing country music, much to my family's surprise. I landed a few weekly gigs a different cafés in the area. I even got a chance to go and perform at Hollywood Arts again, as a distinguished alum.

It had been months since I'd been gone from Darwin, and I missed it like crazy. In particular, I missed the man who made my life better, a man whose name sounded like Earwax.

Then, one day, a package came for me in the mail. It was a copy of _Northanger Abbey, _my favorite Austen novel. When I opened it up, I almost dropped the book in surprise.

It was a second edition.

It was the oldest and most amazing thing I ever held in my hands. I carefully thumbed through it, looking for a note. An index card, the kind I haven't used since I graduated high school, fell out of the middle of the book.

_Train Station, 16:45_

At 4:45, I sat on a bench by the train station, waiting for the train to come.

"I'm sorry," a familiar voice said from behind me, making me jump, "It appears that my book got to you a day late. I got here yesterday." I turned to see Erwin's smiling face, and I jumped into his awaiting arms. He swung me around before setting me down on my feet. I lifted my head up and kissed him, a long, lingering kiss that was much needed after the months apart.

"You know," he told me, "Darwin High School is looking for a new English teacher."

"Really?" I confirmed, my arms still around him.

"If you don't want to come back for me, please come back for the children. They love you," he added.

"I don't have a teaching degree," I admitted.

"Well then, you'll just have to come back for me and volunteer your time with the children after school, then," he consented, "be a tutor."

"Was there actually a job opening?" I asked.

"No," he answered, "but it did get you to think about coming back."

"I've been thinking about coming back since an hour after I left," I muttered.

"Good," Erwin declared, finally breaking from our hug. He grabbed my hand and tugged me along.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To get coffee. And an omelet," He responded, giving my hand a squeeze and smiling.

I smiled back.

For the first time in my life, I couldn't wait to see what the future held.

**A/N: So, was that weird? Whatever you thought, I'd like to hear it! Review. It's right down there, see? \/**


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